


Response and Responsibilities

by jayhood



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle for the Cowl, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, Jason Todd is an omega
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayhood/pseuds/jayhood
Summary: If Jason watched Bruce’s last words on any other day, he might have had a different reaction. He would be fronting at the mouth, he is self-aware enough to tell. He would be full of desire to prove something, to Bruce, to himself, to all the citizens of Gotham. He wasn’t a failure.Instead, what he got, was - tired.
Relationships: Sasha (DCU) & Jason Todd
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	Response and Responsibilities

If Jason watched Bruce’s last words on any other day, he might have had a different reaction. He would be fronting at the mouth, he is self-aware enough to tell. He would be full of desire to prove something, to Bruce, to himself, to all the citizens of Gotham. He wasn’t a failure.

Instead, what he got, was - tired.

It’s that time of the year. God, who he wouldn’t kill if it made him stop having heats. And yeah, there’s birth control stuff, it works sometimes. But it’s not like budging crime lords have health insurance.

No, money wasn’t a problem. The problem was actually going to a doctor. It’s - he wasn’t doing that. He went, a couple of times, when he was still living with Bruce. It was painful, and it was very undignified. Fuck you - he does, too, have dignity left. He’s not spending the last of it with his legs in the air, on a chair, while someone puts hands all over him and does stuff to his insides. He’s not exactly sure what doctors actually do, he blocked it all out - or maybe some blows to the head helped, but point is, at this point he’s afraid to ask.

So he just avoided doctors. Besides, there’re a lot of horror stories about OK having really fucked up side-effects. He’s not talking about gaining weight, though if it throws off his fighting form it would be a huge problem. But everything else? He’s not, okay, he’s man enough to admit, sometimes - he’s a little fucked up. He doesn’t need pills to mess with him further if it’s not a stimulant allowing him to keep going three days on no sleep.

So he’s stuck dealing with heats. Thank god they’re only once a year, for him. Sucks that it’s different time every time, with little warning. It’s not normal, he knows. Other omegas usually have it every three months like clockwork. And their symptoms differ, but usually they don’t want to claw their own insides out, he thinks. And the head, god, the head is killing him. The only thing he wants right now is to lie down on the bed, in a dark room, with a cold wet towel on his head. Not that it helps much, but still, nicer than without. Nicer than moving, or talking.

Fuck. He doesn’t think he can make it to the safe house.

Well, he can. He had worse. He once dragged himself three blocks while heavily bleeding from a neck - and that’s after a building came down on him. It’s just… He doesn’t want to.

“Thanks,” he says to Dick, shutting down the video feed, and keeping his brain from bludgeoning itself with a question whether or not Dick saw the message Bruce left to Jason.

Because of course he did. It’s not the question. The question is, did he understand what Bruce was talking about. But you can deal only with so many headaches at a time, right?

He moves to the stairs that lead to the Manor. Dick crosses his path.

“I invited you here out of courtesy,” he starts. “Doesn’t mean you get a free pass to roam this house.”

Jason grins. Grimaces. Whatever.

“You invited me here because you wanted to see my face as I was watching it, and it’s too dangerous to take the video outside the cave. Seeing as Bruce is there on tape in a Batman suit but without his cowl on.” He claps Dick on the shoulder lightly, snatching his hand back before he reacts. “I’m gonna go say hello to Alfred.”

“No, you won’t,” Dick catches his hand. “Tim and Damian are upstairs.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want you around them,” Dick’s nostrils flare slightly.

For all it’s worth, he doesn’t seem to be trying to piss Jason off. He’s vary about his precious little brothers when big bad Red Hood is around, so sue him. It’s not like Jason didn’t beat Tim up. It’s not like he wouldn’t teach Damian a lesson if it’s necessary. Jason understands that, and on a good day, he  _ would  _ absolutely take it personally but maybe, he wouldn’t  _ smash his head into Dick’s nose _ without at least an exchange of a few words.

It’s all Dick needs to tackle Jason. Shit, after a hit like that, Jason is barely standing as is. If the head was killing him before, then right now he’s on the verge of losing consciousness.

He blinks, and actually, it seems like it’s what happened. Dick is subduing him, sure, but he also isn’t hitting him but instead, angles his body away and looks at Jason with suspicion.

“Got anything against headache?” Jason crooks and closes his eyes again.

He still sees dark spots anyway. Better to wait it out and then try to get up again.

“You don’t think I’m going to feed you painkillers after you concussed himself attacking me, do you?”

“You do have a reputation of being too soft,” Jason says.

Dick snorts.

“Believe me, you are the only one who thinks that way. And maybe Damian. Thank god you’re not a part of the family anymore, I shudder to think what it would be like if you united. You are too much alike.”

“He’s a brat,” Jason snaps. “Who doesn’t know better. We’re nothing alike.”

“You never even spoke to him,” Dick dismisses. Then adds, worried, “You didn’t, did you?”

Jason moves his head slightly. Not  _ exactly _ . But he’s not about to explain his story with al Ghuls.

“Look,” Jason says. “If you let me go, I won’t attack first, you or anyone else in the Manor.”

“You’re not going upstairs.”

“Yeah?” Jason grits his teeth. “I know I would be disinherited even if I wasn’t legally dead and illegally killing people, but did Bruce actually leave you the house in the will, or are you just being an ass?”

Dick flinches. Bingo.

“If you think Alfred is going to want you there,” he says harshly. “You have another thing coming. Even when you first appeared, Alfred was for taking you down.”

“Shit,” Jason says. “And I thought a gift I sent to him would smooth things over between us. Don’t worry, fucker, I know he can’t stand the sight of me. He’s always taking Bruce’s side. He’s his father, after all, that’s what fathers do.”

He has to swallow.

It’s good that he still has his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to know what expression Dick wears on his face right now. It’s pity, right? Disgust with himself raises in Jason.

“I see only a few choices here, Golden Child,” he says as threateningly as he can, while being pinned by Dick Grayson and every movement, every breath is like a crowbar to his head. He knows what he’s talking about. “You either let me go, right now. And I’m going upstairs to have a lovely cup of coffee, or chifir, or something. Or you’re hauling your ass to the med kit and finding me some goddamn ibuprofen.”

“Or, I’m taking door number three, and placing you under arrest right here and now, put you in the Batmobile, drive to the city and throw you out on GCPD doorsteps.”

“You told me you wouldn’t do that,” Jason says, hating it immediately.

“You promised not to try and fight me, too.”

It was only a headbutt, and he suffered more than Dick. But Jason doesn’t have any energy to fight with Dick anymore.

“Whatever. Better shoot me now, though, if you have any fucking mercy.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Headache? It is, but I’m not talking about it.”

“What, then? Afraid of getting justice doled out to you, instead of you being the judge, jury, executioner?”

Jason risks opening one eye. Nope, he’s serious.

“If by justice, you mean, they’re going to throw me in jail where I’m going to…”

He trails off. He won’t be saying  _ it  _ out loud. It’s not like Dick would care anyway.

“What, Red Hood, afraid?”

Yeah. Jason is done. He should have left immediately. He should have never come here.

This is going to hurt.

He surges forward, biting Dick in the neck, the only part of his body unprotected by Kevlar - Jason could have gone for the face, but that would be just weird. Dick yelps, and uses one hand to shove Jason away. Which just what Jason needed to nerve-strike him.

_ Betas _ . He didn’t even break the skin. Jason shoves Dick off himself, and shuffles over to med bay. He takes drugs, and eyes one of the beds. Then he glances back at Dick.

He can’t believe he’s going to do that. But, if Dick wakes up and finds himself on the comfortable cot instead of cold hard floor, he possibly would mind less if Jason stayed here. And he’s going to. If he drives now, he’s going to crash.

So he does move Dick. Shackles him in restraints, even, in case Dick comes around faster than pills kick in. Which, Jason certainly hopes won’t be the case, seeing as the nerve-strike takes people under for at least three hours.

All this done, he snatches a thermal blanket in addition to a comforter atop the bed, and burrows himself under it. It’s so fucking cold his teeth are clattering. He clothes his eyes.

Relief doesn’t come fast. Even if you don’t aggravate it, the earlier you take pills once the headache starts to set in, the easier it would be for you. He usually does without it. Today is just an all-around bad day.

Isn’t it what Joker meant? One day, one not good, totally bad day, is what’s dividing a good man from a bad one. You would think Jason had a day like that already. When he, you know,  _ died _ . But he actually was - not okay, but. Shit happens.

It’s different from when your body does everything possible to wish you had stayed dead. And, of course, your father not saving you ( _ stop thinking about him as a father, he didn’t see you as a son, it was all a lie, because - he pitied you; wanted to make you more efficient; wanted to fix you because you’re a piece of shit in his eyes and always will be, now; fuck him anyhow, you don’t want to be his son either, one asshole of a father per person is more than enough _ )… It’s more palatable than your father thinking you weren’t actually worth his time, and it took you dying to admit the truth.

So yeah, in some ways, today is way worse. Only, he thinks, he doesn’t feel very murderous, aside from the spike of anger he felt when Dick put his hand on him when Jason’s back was to him. Even when Dick was literally pinning him to the floor and threatening him with jail, he wasn’t as mad as at that split second.

Wasn’t as irrationally afraid. Unprepared. Mentally, he means, because he’s always prepared to throw down. Even when he was a vegetable.

Thinking about those times makes his heart spike. He would attack anyone who was threatening him then, Talia told him. But he never attacked her, or anyone else who he didn’t deem a threat. What if. Someone. Behaved himself in a way that his muddled brain wouldn’t recognize was a threat.

Shit. No. Nope. Not going there. He promised himself he wouldn’t go there, wouldn’t dwell on what-ifs like that.

Damian, he thinks. He’s what, eight now? Jason is twenty-five.

No, he tells himself. No.

Jason spends the next two weeks underground. Literally. No, he can fight like this. He just would prefer not to. You don’t start fights where you’re at disadvantage, unless throwing the first punch is going to give you an upper hand at whatever you’re fighting. 

Right now, he’s fighting the desire to call a pizza place. They must have delivered to weirder places. It’s Gotham, after all. But abandoned subway stations don’t grow on trees, and Jason isn’t willing to sacrifice his last place of safety.

Besides, he has some MREs, dried fruit, bottled water, even chocolate-flavored energy bars. He has his tools and materials, his computer (though, without Internet; getting cables here is not a great idea, opsec-wise). Only the first five days he spent lying around the whole day, feeling weak, useless. A failure.

Bruce’s voice keeps repeating it in his head:  _ wayward, self-destructive, broken _ . Ha.  _ Alfred knows a great doctor _ , why didn’t you go to them, you, giant fucking hypocrite?  _ Do for you what could never be done for me _ . Oh, never could be done for you, poor little Bruce. Jason guesses it means that he thought he had it worse than Jason with his  _ secret that never of us should have kept _ . With his  _ terror, pain, horrors _ .

What the fuck does Bruce know about horrors. He was just play-acting the whole time. Split lip here, broken arm there. And any and all criminal scumbag with any pain tolerance at all knew that they just had to wait it out, get sentenced if the evidence wasn’t thrown out in court on account of Batman being a vigilante, and not in the chain of custody. Get off lightly thanks to scumbag lawyers. Ride the sentence out, getting three meals a day on a government dime. Get released early on parole. Repeat the cycle.

And that’s not counting the big ones. Why didn’t he take a page out of his girlfriend book, and just throw them all out of the window? And yes, Jason noticed, that in her case, it was apparently acceptable enough. In his case, he’s a nutjob with a death wish because he was touched inappropriately as a kid.

Was it, he muses, because he’s omega? Not the touching thing, he hadn’t even presented then yet; he wasn’t the healthiest child. Vitamins and minerals and other nutrients, apparently, a real thing, and not only a marketing ploy. His first heat didn’t hit him until he was fifteen and running away from home.

But it’s not like it ever stopped anybody.

Sure, they said they could smell omega on him, but that’s total bullshit. Despite designations, and heats, humans are too far up the evolutionary chain to keep relying on smell for identifiers. Sure, heats will fuck with your olfactory senses, and bodies tend to smell more strongly then as well. But that’s just because body temperature is elevated. Not because people are discharging pheromones into the atmosphere like they overdid their perfume.

They still said that, but just because in their heads it made it somehow okay, or hotter. Both, or neither, and they were just running their mouths because it’s something people say. Jason doesn’t care.

They’re dead anyway.

And that’s what he needed, actually, when Bruce took him in. Knowing that it won’t happen again. With him or anyone else. Or, if it does happen, there will be consequences. He won’t have to stare at their faces at least once per week. He won’t have to play the ‘will they/won’t they  _ this time _ ’ game. 

It obviously wasn’t possible under Bruce’s roof, the security of this knowledge. So he consoled himself with certainty that at least, nobody could get to him here. And, after Bruce started training him, actually doing something to keep streets safe for everyone felt good.

Why doesn’t… didn’t. Why didn’t Bruce understand that, everything he ever wanted was to protect. Not punish. Prevent.

Jason should have, he thinks with a sudden pang, pushed Garzonas. He should have done that before Gloria hanged himself.

It’s strange. So many people died by his hands. Some of them he even liked. Yet, her death is the one that haunts him still. Especially now, when he has nothing else to do to take the focus elsewhere from his misery.

But it isn’t exactly true.

He boots his computer, and starts designing and planning. 

When he feels more human, he showers in a portable shower, chews through his breakfast, and goes to the work bench.

When he resurfaces, he feels better than ever. His head is clear. No dizziness. He caught up on his sleep. He feels calmer, too. Focused.

His good mood evaporates when he realizes what a disaster zone Gotham had become while he was gone. Nightwing called all hands on deck (Jason's invitation wasn't delivered; so he must be still sore about being tied up) but it doesn't look like the Network can handle the crime wave, the riots, Penguin getting into it with Two-Face. Especially if you consider that some of them need to get back to their lives some time soon.

Gotham went crazy without Batman. Drake tries to keep the charade going, but he doesn't fool anyone. Jason thinks he could have done a better job. He always thought he would make a more efficient Batman. Problem is, he isn’t sure it’s the right move, now. Even if Drake was up to the task. Or if the Golden Child wore the cowl himself. Hell, if Jason had thought he’s going to prove anything to anyone and wore all black with a blood-red bat on his chest - well, the last one would be like a red sheet in front of a bull. They all would have ended up fighting each other. But if they didn’t... Whoever ended up with pointy ears on their head, at some point or other, he would have died too. And then  _ the cycle repeats _ .

No, what Gotham needs is an understanding that it will be held accountable, Batman or no Batman.

Jason starts with visiting his informants. He walks past the corner where Bella usually is. But not tonight. That’s okay, she’s probably with a customer. He would have left a message but the girls in the area are new faces to him. He doesn’t know if they take his money and then promptly forget about it as soon as he crosses the street. Or, worse yet, repeat the message but to the wrong ears.

So he goes to this diner he likes. He wants real food  _ yesterday _ .

Mitchel, the man running the place now after Jason took it back from Bulgarian mafia, doesn’t really know who he is. Knows enough not to ask. He’s wary because Jason helped with his medical situation, and got him this place all to himself where he can use his talents without the danger of his parole being violated. But Jason never before asked him for anything in return, save for a plate of soup.

Jason tries to avoid habits anyone could follow and exploit. So he never had a scheduled day for it. Usually, when his stomach starts protesting the treatment it receives, that’s when Jason goes in. Mitchel should be used to that. But he hovers, now, after getting Jason his usual order.

“Sit,” Jason says, taking the first spoonful of soup. 

Mitchel sits down, but he’s still wiping his hands on the towel and not saying anything.

“Out with it,” Jason says between chews. 

Mitchel looks around. The diner is empty, save for the kid working on the cash register. Jason doesn’t know her, didn’t do a background check. Well, he just has to deal for now. He will follow the new employee for a while, see if something is up. Doesn’t seem like it at a first glance. Customer service jobs are notorious for high turnover rates. The girl, Jason squints at her name tag, “Alexandra”, seems like your typical teenager. Brightly dyed hair, pixie cut, inexperienced makeup. Bored. Reading. Jason considers the book: brightly-colored letters, a mask, not unlike Robin’s, on the cover. He knows it. Not bad Justice League critique, for a YA novel.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Mitchel mutters at last. “I wasn’t sure you would be. Things have gotten rough around here.”

“Yeah? You ran into any trouble while I was on vacation?”

Mitchel shrugs. 

“Not exactly,” he hedges. “Not yet. But... Sometimes there are... Look. I know a man with my past doesn’t have any room to judge. But. Some of our customers, lately... I think they are from a Russian gang.”

Jason frowns.

“Dmitri wouldn’t do me like that. He knows to stay in his lane.”

Mitchel throws his hands helplessly. 

“They didn’t look like Dmitri's crew, though,” he adds. “Their accents are... different. Can’t say how, I’m not a linguist. It’s just - audible. And it’s one or two guys at the time. They aren’t even doing anything. Just - they visit pretty late at night, order food, eat, talk with Alex or with me for a while, and leave. Still...”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Not every Russian immigrant is a criminal, you know.”

Mitchel looks at him sheepishly.

“No, I know, I know. But in this economy...”

Jason waves him away.

“I will look into it. Thanks for the food.”

Jason leaves, nodding at the Alexandra as he goes. She looks at him with suspicion and a scowl. He sighs.

He checks in with his other girls and guys who he can find. They tell him the latest news, and it’s something to be concerned about. But there are more pressing things to deal with first. Like Jude, who isn’t around anymore, was in the wrong place at a wrong time with a wrong person. And Kitty was spooked by someone, Marsha says, and gathered her things and left. Good for her, if she made it out. He’s going to check on that after he puts down the fucker who got to Jude. It takes most of the night - he has to trail back to his old safe house for the helmet because his new suit is not field ready. But he finds him, and puts him and his buddies down (hey, they were shooting at him first). After deliberation, he leaves a message: _ I’m  _ not  _ Batman _ . Because he’s not, and that’s the point.

It’s nearly the dawn when he remembers that he wanted to check in with Bella on his way home.

She isn’t there again. He weights if it’s worth it to swing by her place. He doesn’t particularly want to be seen by her roommates, but she’s the one with an off again, on again boyfriend in Two-Face entourage, and the last time he saw her, they were on.

He’s standing there thinking for so long, one of the new girls calls him over. He goes to them, because a first-timer who took too long to gather his courage for approach is less noticeable than a creep without any reason to hang around. But he hates to speak with new people, if there’s no gun muzzle between them.

He waves at them and hides his hands back in hoodie’s pockets. Hunches his shoulders. The girls do most of the talking, thankfully. He studies them, asks some questions. He doesn’t like what he sees. Nobody even heard about Bella, or so they claim. Or any of the other girls Jason asks about. More importantly, when he takes too long to choose, one of them sends a text message to someone.

A man dozing in a car not that far away, startles violently, and gets out of the car.

“You,” he says in a rough voice. “Stop wasting time. Got money? Buy someone, or get lost.”

Jason grimaces. It’s funny what little things put his teeth on edge. Insult his appearance, fighting skills, brain, he will laugh it off. Treating people like goods is what he takes problem with. Sex workers are not goods. They sell services, not themselves.

It's not like the goon's opinion is unpopular. But pimps are the worst of all the judgmental assholes, worse than pearl-clutching snobs or even johns. Because they dehumanise people intentionally, just so it would be easier to make money off them.

"No, man, my bad," he says. "Her."

He points his finger without looking, picking pretty much at random. The man is watching them leave, but otherwise doesn't make a nuisance of himself. It leaves Jason feeling dissatisfied in a way the absence of sex in his life never does.

The girl yawns all the way up to Mitchel’s diner.

“Are we there yet,” she mumbles when Jason stops across the street from it.

Lou, the street vendor that sells chili dogs here as long as Jason could remember, prepares his order, times two. The girl eyes the cart warily.

“Candice, right?” Jason asks. “Grab us two coffees to go.”

He gives her twenty and points to the diner, superstitiously checking out whose inside. Regular early morning crowd. Alexandra is still manning the counter. He checks his watch. Yeah, he’s just in time, only fifteen minutes before the shift change.

“Uh,” Candice says, taking the money. She looks like she could use coffee, and probably wants it too, but would prefer this strange encounter to be over. “I’m keeping the change, just so you know.”

When she comes back, they make an exchange: she hands him one of the coffees, he offers her a chili dog. She hesitates. Jason gets it, so he takes a bite out of his own and hands it over instead. 

“That’s unhygienic.” She looks up at him and, seeing his expression, exclaims, “ _ That’s _ totally different! I have condoms and stuff. But you know how nasty human mouth is? Worse than dog’s!”

So she eats her own instead. She doesn’t particularly like it, that’s obvious. Jason didn’t expect her to. The point of chili dogs is that they are fresh, hot, something like meat, and there’s a lot of mayo and ketchup and mustard on it. Lou even adds fresh cabbage to it, though Jason prefers pickled, himself. Oh well.

“So,” Candice says. “You know I’m still billing you for this, right? Breakfast stop was your idea, so that's an additional 50 bucks. If you don’t pay, I’m gonna call Vova, and you met him.”

“Vova, huh,” Jason says. “No, you know, that’s fine. I have money. It’s just I’m fresh from my rut, so it takes a little time to get in the mood. And I was hungry, so.”

She eyes him.

“What do you need me for, if your rut is already over?”

“I don’t spend my ruts with people all that often. It takes forever to find someone to sync with. I was supposed to hole up in my apartment with Bella, but she dropped off radar and didn’t even send me a heads-up. But, seeing as none of you know Bella, she must have moved on to greater things. Thought I take you out, see if we click.”

“I don’t spend heats with people either,” Candice says.

She doesn’t offer anything else, pretending to be engulfed by eating.

“Suppose I pay well,” Jason baits her. “And, you know, I’m not a psycho. Bella could attest to that but well...”

Candice shakes her head.

“Not about money,” she says, finishing her chili dog and roaming in her bag for napkins or wipes. A piece of paper falls out. Jason snatches it up: a receipt from Mitchel’s but for a really big take-out meal, dated three days previous. He gives it back to Candice, and she throws it away with used wipes. She shares them. Jason decides she’s nice.

But he knows she’s not going to be his new Bella as soon as she turns away from him, only not before he notices a small vial in her hand she tries to take inconspicuously. She’s new enough to want to hide things like that about her, and it makes Jason mad at the world. Especially because he isn’t going to leave her with an illusion that she’s successful.

“You have something for me too?” he asks.

Candice grimaces.

“No.”

“I’m good for it, I promise.”

“Look, it’s not like that. It’s my medicine, alright? I have, как это сказать... Social anxiety. It’s so I won’t get freaked out. And it’s why I don’t have heats anymore.”

She immediately looks like she said too much. Too bad, now Jason is really interested.

“Sounds like a sweet deal to me,” Jason smiles. “Wouldn’t have said no to it in high school. Ever thought about selling it? I know people who can market it just right.”

She doesn’t bite, and he likes her even more for it.

“Besides,” she adds after her refusal. “I get only a dose a day.”

“Can’t you just buy more? Better yet, tell me the name of your guy.”

“You met him,” she shrugs. “It’s Vova.”

Yeah, Jason really is disappointed Vova didn’t start anything with him then.

Guess Bullet Nose Dmitri forgot the traffic laws after all. Or, he surveys the exit from Mitchel’s diner, there’s more to it.

“Okay,” he says, giving Candice her money. “Ask him if he’s interested in a wider distribution net, though, and there’s a commission fee in it for you.”

Candice eyes the money but takes it.

“So,” she says uncertainty after she hides it. “I will see you?”

Jason waves her away just in time. 

There’s a man who loiters outside the diner. Looking at it every few minutes but not going in. Average build, brown hair. Waiting for someone. Can’t be Mitchel. Even if he’s not Condiment King anymore, you wouldn’t try to take him on at his own place alone. 

The night shift, meanwhile, is over. Alexandra switches places with Guy, a college kid who has night classes, mostly. She’s out of the door almost immediately. Jason moves after her. 

He’s not the only one. When Alexandra passes the stalker, she is very prominently not looking at him, but she clutches her backpack closer to herself. The guy doesn’t even try to be inconspicuous as he trails after her. Jason squeezes his knife in the pocket.

“What,” the guy loses his patience after a block, “Not even hello? Good morning?”

The guy tries to grab her by hand, and Jason makes his steps wider to shorten the distance quicker, but Alexandra just stops entirely and turns to the guy:

“Dad! I  _ told  _ you, don’t come to my place of work! It’s  _ embarrassing _ ! Nobody has their parents walking them to or from work! And don’t send uncle Lev and his friends to check up on me either!”

That’s. Jason passes them by, not quite listening to the argument anymore. Okay. Guess one headache less.

Now back to the missing person case.

Gathering info would be so much easier if Jason had access to the same databases the Batcave has. But he's not about to ask Dick for a favor even if there wasn't a possibility Tommy, her boyfriend, is responsible for Bella's disappearance, and thus needs to die.

Having a hacker friend would be great, only he’s all dried up on that front. Should have studied that shit instead of reading classical English novels. 

The fastest option of checking if Bella or Kitty left Gotham under their own volition or, at least, if they left at all, by any legal means, would be bribing a cop. They could check everything: tickets, CCTV on the roads leading to and from the city, hospitals, morgues. But corruption is something Jason objects on principle. He won’t be creating demand for a thing that leads only to the reason he exists in the first place. He’s not Bruce for fuck’s sake.

Thing is, Jason can't interrogate Tommy about Bella's whereabouts because he's dead. Shot in the docs when Penguin's people, presumably, hijacked Two-Face's operation.

And it doesn’t seem right. Two-Face has people in Penguin’s gang, and Penguin isn’t so bold. But who else would profit? 

It’s an easy answer, because it is something he would have done himself, when he came back to Gotham for the first time, if there was anyone to set up to take the fall against Black Mask. He would have just kick back and watch them take each other out, until he could swoop in and finish the job.

But that’s just a theory based on a hunch, and when you dole out bullets, it’s not good enough. He has to do actual legwork, and a lot of it. 

Jason goes by Bella's flat but it has new tenant. Her annoying roommates complain that she slipped out on paying rent, left her shit behind, and there's constant barrage of men sniffing around for her.

"Constant?" Jason asks. "Who? How many?"

The roommate tells him to fuck off and tries to close the door. Jason has two seconds to decide if he is going to smash her head into the door, or get his wallet out.

He's pissed off enough to go with the first option, but the moment his hand touches the door knob, a baby cries out.

And all of a sudden, Jason sees the annoying roommate as they are. Single parent, barely making ends meet, splitting rent with a working girl because not that many people going to want to share living space with someone who is going to keep you awake at odd hours. And for Bella, it wasn't a downside: she was out at nights anyway, and when she did come home, she was sleeping like dead.

For them, their first consideration was the baby, and Bella's disappearance was going to endanger the living situation, already precarious. It wasn't because they were a selfish cunt. It was because sometimes shit was so bad around here, you had limited options what to feel bad about.

So wallet it is.

That gets him his answers. It actually gets him inside the flat, too. The roommate bounces a baby in her hands, its cries make Jason’s teeth grind. It’s not that he doesn’t like babies. It’s that he could never handle a sound of the baby crying. He was told again and again that it must endure if it is to grow strong and ready to face the world without reliance on others. He did not understand that. He wanted to get to the baby and just hold it in his hands, just feed him or sing to him or rock him until he falls asleep.

But it wasn’t his baby then. He isn’t sure the baby really existed. And it isn’t his baby now. He grits his teeth, ask questions, and bingo. There’s a familiar man described just now. Maybe there is a completely innocent reason why Vova had been sniffing around - Bella did work on the turf that was his place of employment, now. But usually pimps weren’t so conscious about the safety of their money-makers. There was something else.

“Can I get a look at her room?” Jason asks. “Or did you sell Bella’s shit already?”

Roommate shakes their head.

“Not yet. And no. I know you, but I don’t know if Bella had wanted you all up in your business.”

“What if I, like, bought her shit from her? But just looked at it and left it all here for safekeeping? Look, you need to pay her part of the rent somehow.”

They hesitate but in the end there’s nothing much they could do but agree. So Jason checks Bella’s room. And nothing is out of place that wouldn’t usually be. The clothes are there. ID. Her public transportation card. Which means that whenever she was going, she didn’t plan to go far or for long.

He leaves the month rent worth with roommate and ask her not to look for new subletters yet. Call him first. The roommate agrees. Maybe out of optimism. Maybe because it really sucks living with people you don’t know especially when you have a kid.

He checks Kitty’s house. It’s all much the same. This time, he describes Vova himself to Kitty’s roommates. They don’t recognize him, though. Say it was actually a not very tall man who talked like he was messed up on something. But he didn’t ask many questions - just if she was home. She wasn’t, he left. And she never came back.

There’s still time before he has to sleep and then wake up and put his new suit on. He goes back to Mitchell’s. Asks him for camera footage from three days ago. And while Mitchell puts it all together, he picks a boot far away from the entrance and starts to make calls.

He plays a concerned brother. Hospitals are sympathetic. No girls matching their descriptions. Morgues’ admin staff sounds less present. Yeah, they admit. A couple. Come check it out if you want to take them off the city’s hands and bury.

It doesn’t necessarily mean Kitty or Bella are dead, Jason tells himself. It doesn’t, before he sees them himself. It could be just… other omega girls. Who are strangers and don’t mean anything to him personally. That doesn’t make it better. 

Guy offers him a decaf latte, a plate of waffles. Jason drinks and chews. He has to, even if it feels like a betrayal somehow. Sitting here just eating. When people are dying. It is not a new feeling. Talia used to feed him herself. “You’re no good for anyone if you fall down from hunger. If you too weak to fight.”

Mitchel shows him the tablet where the security tapes are downloaded. Jason remembers the time on the tab he picked up from where Candice dropped it, so he finds that he needs pretty quickly.

She’s there. The man who looks like the Alexandra’s dad is here, too, but they aren’t together, and it doesn’t look like they ever met at all. Uncle Lev, Jason supposes this is, he’s just sitting here eating his burger. Candice goes in, gets her order, pays, and goes outside. From the windows, Jason sees a hood of the car that backs from the curb half a minute after Candice exits.

Still, Jason points him out to Mitchell.

“I think that’s your Russian mafia, Mitch. Though not really, just your new hire’s family. Do you not even ask them about family anymore?”

Mitchell throws his hands up defensively.

“I did!  Her father is an engineer! And if it’s her uncle, then who are all those other guys?”

He shows Jason the footage. Jason groans. One of them is fucking Vova again. 

Sounds like this night he has to spend in his civvies again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the people who comment and kudos!


End file.
